


One of the Guys

by goldshard



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Outing, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Trans Male Hinata, binding, but the OFC is a main character, the pairing is minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldshard/pseuds/goldshard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinata Shika does not belong in this body at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of the Guys

**Author's Note:**

> Edit, 10/14/2016: it has been a long time since I wrote this story.
> 
> In fact, with my original note intact below, you will see at the time I identified with cis--now I am questioning. Part of being an ally with a movement is that you must always be learning your privilege and unlearning your prejudice and ignorance. 
> 
> I wrote this fic from an earnest place and I am still fond of it. It was a small token of appreciation and love for the trans people who were in my life at the time who I wanted to show my love to.
> 
> But, I must admit, if I wrote this now it would be different. I may not have written it at all. There are major plot elements of this story that I feel are problematic, and some details of this story due detail my ignorance of what it is really like to be a trans man.
> 
> I am leaving this story up for the record, and for anyone who may need or appreciate this message, but I do acknowledge the problems that are inherent to it now.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> \---
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> I did my best to research this story with the materials available on the internet. I could find blessed little on how transgender people are treated in Japan in day to day life, and decided to take the very optimistic route.
> 
> I myself am cis. I have spoken to friends who are trans to help formulate this story, but this does not excuse any potential issues that may arise. If there is any content in this story that you find to be ignorant, offensive, or wrong, please please tell me, because I want this story to be the best it can be and to be positive for everyone.
> 
> This story is a month's work of work wildly out of my control, I hope everyone enjoys.

__ i _ _

The girls were lined up along the floor of the gymnasium. Shika shook with her excitement. Finally, she was going to play on a real team. They called out the names of the girls one by one, taking roll. “Hinata Shika?” the captain finally said.

“That's me!” Shika said, jumping and waving her hand in the air.

They finished roll, and then the coach spoke. “We're happy to welcome you to the Yukigaoka Junior High girls volleyball team. I'm sure that all of you have athletic ability, and can learn to be very capable players,” she went on, beginning to detail the rules of the team, how many practices they had to attend to play in tournaments, but Shika had stopped paying attention, instead choosing to look around the room to take everything in. She was finally here, playing volleyball on a real team.

They began practice, and Shika felt light as air. She had a long way to go, but she was totally happy with where she was now.

__ ii _ _

There was a senpai that paid Shika special attention. Yukiko-senpai was a third year student, but she noticed Shika for reason, other than having been partnered with her to test her skill. Yukiko would stay after practice to continue working with Shika, and Shika wasn't sure why, but if Yukiko was there, Shika would take the opportunity to learn.

Yukiko was a wing spiker, the position that Shika wanted to play desperately, but for the longest time, they only worked on Shika's receives. Day after day. It was such a simple part of the game, but for some reason, Shika just couldn't pick it up as quickly as everyone else.

“You're getting better,” Yukiko said one day, catching the ball instead of passing it back. “I know its hard for you to tell, but you are improving, Hinata.”

“Really?” Shika said, smiling widely, “Thank you Yukiko-senpai, thank you!” She said, running up and shaking Yukiko's hand repeatedly, a large grin stretched over her teeth.

Yukiko let her hand be tugged, and as she calmed Shika down, she smiled too—something about Shika being happy made her happy.

__ iii _ _

Shika had very long hair. It was long, thick, and wavy, a rare red. Relaxing during a break at practice, Yukiko twirled her fingers in Shika's ponytail. Her hair was very soft.

“You have nice hair, you know,” Yukiko said, giving it a tug.

Shika jumped, choking on her water a moment. “That was mean, Yukiko-senpai,” she said, wiping her mouth. Yukiko dropped her hand, and Shika moved to touch her hair instead. “I have nice hair?” Shika said. “I'd never paid it any mind.”

“Can I braid it sometime?”

“Sure.”

__ iv _ _

When Yukiko graduated, Shika cried. Standing outside the school after the ceremony, Yukiko patted her enthusiastically on the back. “Don't worry, Shika!” she said, “It's not like I'm going away. I'm going to the same high school in town.”

“I just... I wanna keep playing volleyball with you!” Shika said.

“Don't worry, Shika,” Yukiko said, “I'll be around to bug you to make sure you practice!”

__ v _ _

The bad feelings started the break between her first and second year of middle school. Something just felt very, very wrong, and she couldn't put her finger on what. She desperately wanted to.

Shika had always been an outdoorsy child, but that summer she spent more time in her room than she ever had before. There was one specific thing that spoke to her—the tins of drug store make up that had been bought for her, but never touched. Repeatedly, she found herself sitting on her bed staring at the bright, welcoming colors. She unwrapped the brushes, rubbing the soft tendrils of them on her arm.

It was normal for young girls barely in junior high to never wear make up, right? But for some reason, when Shika looked at the stuff, there was a voice calling out to her in the back of her head that it wasn't for people like her.

She moved the tins of make up from by her mirror, and instead buried them in a forgotten shoe box in the back of her closet.

__ vi _ _

During that school break, Shika's mother took her bra shopping. Shika hadn't really noticed that she'd begun to develop a bust aside from faint tinges of soreness on rare occasions. She found herself dragged into a store that was too loud, too bright, and too delicate. Everything seemed to be covered with lace, rhinestones, and glitter.

The woman who helped them had long, sleek black hair. She was very slim, but had very large breasts. Shika remembered clearly how her lips had shimmered with lip gloss.

The woman measured her, and threw some plain tan and white bras at her in the size she decided was hers, and Shika's mother pushed her into the fitting room. Her shirt was taken off of her, and she remembered how she felt like she was blushing all the way to her toes as her mother showed her how to put on the garment.

It fit correctly, and enough for a weeks worth of clothes cost more than Shika cared to think about, but that was it. She owned bras.

She didn't wear them except when forced. The very image of herself in the mirror, wearing a bra, felt acutely wrong. It was too feminine. She was glad she wasn't “blessed” with bustiness, being barely an A-cup, hardly anything at all. But the very idea of it didn't fit.

She ran her hands along her body in the mirror, feeling the curve of her waist and the softness of her hips. She tried to imagine herself as a straight, boxier figure, but it didn't appear.

Shika decided she didn't like seeing herself without clothes on anymore.

__ vii _ _

Her hair was heavy. Shika had never paid much attention to it really, not caring how long it grew. It was just past her mid back, vibrant in color and full of soft, pretty curls. As that break had continued, Shika had grown withdrawn, and her head felt heavy. She began to blame it on her hair.

Her hair had gotten her so many compliments over the years. It was a rare color, and thick. She remembered countless friends that had floated in and out of her life who would fawn over her hair, touching it and running their fingers pensively through it, like the closer they got the more they could absorb.

Her mother pressured her to take better care of it, throwing thousands of expensive products with demeaning names on them, magazines, and instruments of heat and torture at her. Shika continued to let her hair air dry and fall naturally, but she slowly took less care of it, throwing it in a towel wrapped around her head so she wouldn't have to feel the heavy weight of it wet, washing it through less. Her hair started to become a duller color, and became frizzier.

As her hair dulled, Shika felt like somehow, she was in sync with it.

Relatives started to comment on the change when they saw her, asking questions like, “Have you been eating right, Shika?” and “Is Shika doing okay?”. Her mother denied that there was anything at all wrong with Shika. Shika wouldn't reply at all, which many of them took to mean that there was definitely something very wrong with Shika.

A week before school was to begin, Shika found herself staring in her mirror dripping and naked after her shower. She shivered, her knees shaking. Her hair dripped water onto the wooden floor, but she couldn't move. Everything was wrong—the feminine curve of her face, the hair clinging almost to her hips, wet like this, the subtle swell and softness of her breasts hanging from her rib cage.

Her body felt like a cell, and staring at the long weight of her hair, that almost felt like the lock. Shika started to cry. How come it felt like she was the only one having these feelings? Why did it have to be her?

Shika locked her door, and realized what she wanted to do. She rummaged a few minutes and found her scissors, grasping them tightly once she did. Furiously, she began to cut at her hair. The scissors were dull, and not meant for such a job, but they did it. She cut erratically without purpose, just wanting it short. Every large clump that fell to the floor felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders.

She cut the last strand, and flipped her hair back up. She had no idea how she looked, but she felt like Atlas, having cast the globe aside. Tear tracks on her cheeks began to dry, making her skin tight.

She tossed her scissors aside, and crawled on her bed still naked and slept, leaving the pile of hair untouched on the floor.

__ viii _ _

Her mother found her on the bed naked and out cold. “Shika, what the hell happened to you?” she shouted.

Shika started at the noise, turning over and groaning. That was when her mother discovered the hair on the floor, and the pieces clicked together that her daughter's appearance had suddenly and fundamentally changed.

“Shika, what did you do to yourself?” she shouted, getting on the bed and shaking Shika's shoulders, trying to rouse the groggy girl.

Shika blinked tiredly, coming to terms with the situation she had awoken in. Right, she knew how this had come to be. “Didn't want it anymore,” she mumbled.

“Why didn't you just tell me?” Her mother said, “So we could schedule an appointment with a hairstylist?”

“Though you'd be mad,” Shika said. She lifted her hand and touched her hair. It was jagged and messy. But it was blessedly, beautifully short.

“Oh, Shika,” her mother said, “don't you know I just want you to be happy?”

Time seemed to speed up for Shika. She was ordered to dress, and was then ferried to a discount hair salon.

“Just... make it okay,” her mother told the stylist.

Shika let herself be consumed in the gentle feeling of hot water and they stylist's hands on her scalp.

__ ix _ _

When school resumed, it seemed like people only cared to talk to her about her hair. People pretended that they couldn't recognize her without her hair. Shika wouldn't say anything.

“You seem different without your long hair, Hinata,” her favorite teacher from last year told her. Finally, her teacher looked over the rim of her glasses, and gave Shika a scrutinizing look. Shika felt very small under her gaze. “Have you been taking care of yourself, Hinata?”

Shika hunched her shoulders, and shrugged. “What do you mean, Mrs. Kojima?” she asked, gripping her books tightly.

“You seem... I don't know... smaller. You've lost your presence,” her teacher said, tapping her fingers on her desk. “You know my door is always open if you want to talk, Hinata.”

__ x _ _

Volleyball did not feel quite the same without Yukiko on her team. Shika had improved greatly since where she was in her last game, but like everything else, volleyball seemed to have lost its vibrancy to her. She arrived at practice, she worked, and she left. She was suddenly indifferent towards the sport that she had loved for her entire life up to this point.

One day, walking home from practice, she heard a voice she was not expecting to hear shouting her name. “Shika, Shika!” Yukiko was shouting. Shika turned around, and there was Yukiko, running towards her, wearing her new high school student uniform instead of the middle school uniform that Shika was still wearing.

“Yukiko, hi!” Shika shouted, feeling a smile grace her lips for the first time that day.

“Wow, Shika, I almost didn't recognize you without all that hair you used to carry around,” Yukiko said, sticking her hand into Shika's short hair and ruffling it randomly. “I think I like this better, though,” Yukiko said.

Shika felt her heart life. “Really?” she asked, “You're the only person who has felt that way!” She said, smiling widely.

“Shika, are you okay?” Yukiko said, “I know that's a random question, but... something seems off. Did something happen over the summer?”

A lot had happened over the summer, Shika thought to herself. But the bad feelings were what had happened the most. Did she want to tell Yukiko about the bad feelings? It wasn't Yukiko's job to take care of her. But oh, Shika wanted so badly to tell Yukiko of every bad thought that had crossed her mind in this time that needed to be cleansed. “Could we go somewhere private to talk about it?” Shika asked.

“Let's go sit by the pond in the park,” Yukiko suggested. The two turned to go in the direction of the pond, Yukiko filling up the silence with topics of school and how great high school was, but how nervous her new volleyball team had made her. Shika nodded a lot and agreed a lot, feeling her body go into autopilot as her brain tried to work out how to explain how she felt to Yukiko.

Finally, the two settled in the park by the pond. It seemed like they were the only people who were using the park at all that day—perfect. “So, Shika,” Yukiko said, “What's up?”

Shika opened her mouth, but didn't began to speak for a moment. “This summer,” she said, “I had these... feelings,” she said. “I just feel so uncomfortable in my skin,” she went on, “Like I could swell up and explode out of it and land on the walls at any time.”

“Do you think you're fat or,” Yukiko began to say, but Shika began to speak.

“I look at my body and hate it,” Shika said. “I want my breasts gone, I don't want to have long hair,” her voice dropped so low and quiet Yukiko could barely understand, as she spoke the words so fast and in such succession that they all blurred together, “I hate my vagina,” and then her voice gained volume again, “I hate changing around other girls, even my mom. It feels wrong.”

“Shika... do you want to be a boy?”

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“I mean, do you ever look at boys and wish you could be one of them? Or that you looked like them?” Yukiko said, looking upon the younger girl. Seeing the confusion etched onto her features and her sadness hurt—Yukiko didn't want her to feel that way.

“I um... I want to have a flat chest, like a boy,” Shika said, “Um, I dunno about down there... I just know I don't like what I have,” she said awkwardly, pressing her knees and legs together inside her skirt. She looked away from Yukiko, and over the pond instead.

“Shika, do you know what transgender means?” Yukiko asked, her voice strong enough to force Shika too look like her again.

“No.”

“It means someone who the doctors said was one gender when they were born, but they're really another,” Yukiko tried to explain. She was a little fuzzy on the idea herself, but she would never tell Shika that.

“...But how does that work?”

“Your gender isn't just your genitalia,” Yukiko said. “They aren't related at all. Your gender is what's in here,” she said, tapping Shika's forehead, “and what's in there, well, sometimes it doesn't agree with whats down there, I guess.”

“But I don't know how I would figure out if I am that,” Shika said, biting her lip.

“I guess you have to experiment,” Yukiko said, “Figure out what feels good. Try joining a chat room and introducing yourself as a boy. See if people thinking you're a boy feels good. And if you pick out a boy name you like, I could call you that, if you want.”

“Wait, I actually have a boy name,” Shika said, a small glimmer of achievement surfacing in her brain, “My mom was going to name me Shoyo if I um... If I was a boy. I always liked it a little better, I'm not sure why.”

“Okay, Shoyo,” Yukiko said, “I can call you that, Shoyo.”

Shika felt her stomach turn a little. Something about being called Shoyo felt really, really nice.

__ xi _ _

Shika decided to try what Yukiko had suggested, and started joining chatrooms. For some reason, saying,  __ My name is Shoyo, I'm 14, I live in Miyagi Prefecture _ _ , felt really good. She liked having people just consider her a boy, and she continued to research.

She found herself warming more and more to the idea of being a boy every day.

And then came the day when he stopped feeling anything like a girl at all.

It wasn't like a sudden, shattering realization. It was more a realization of what had happened, his logical brain catching up to everything else. So maybe he had biologically female parts, but he wasn't a girl at all. He texted Yukiko.  __ You're right. _ _

A reply.  __ I'll love you no matter what, Shoyo. _ _

__ xii _ _

Figuring out how to come out to his mother was a hard decision. He tried to drop hints, in a way. Wearing more masculine clothes around his home, phasing any last vestiges of femininity out of his life. But if his mother noticed these changes, well, she didn't really act upon it, or make mention of it to him. It was frustrating.

Of course, he'd grown up and seen transgender people on TV, or in anime, but they weren't really something he saw in real life. He had no one he could see and look at, and think, “hey, they're just like me.”

But finally, his mother seemed to have figured something out when one evening, after dinner when Shoyo was in his room doing his homework, his mother came inside, and said, “Hey, Shika, can I talk to you?”

Trying not to feel the meek disappointment he felt when he was misgendered, he turned and said, “What about, mom?”

“Is there something going on your not telling me?” His mother asked. “You've been secretive lately, and distant. I just want to know you're okay.”

Shoyo froze, his mind racing trying to catch up with the situation as it was. He could confess, and figuratively, be taking the chance of throwing himself to the wolves. Or he could try to cover it up and revisit the topic, maybe when he was prepared, and had his mental script...

No. He took the plunge.

“Um, actually, mom,” he said, “I... I don't think I'm a girl.”

“What do you mean, Shika?”

“Mom. I'm a boy. Like... um inside. In my head, mom. I got the wrong body when I was born, mom,” he said, fear rising again. His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute, and that slight moment in between when he stopped speaking and his mother began seemed to feel like almost ten thousand years.

“Shika... you're trans, you think?” His mother said.

“Yeah, um,” Shoyo said, “Do you think you could call me Shoyo instead? It would make me feel more comfortable. Like... it really helps.”

“Oh, my baby,” his mother said, surging forward and throwing her arms over his shoulders and hugging him tightly, “It hurts me to know you have to struggle with this, but Shi— _ _Shoyo__ , I mean, I really just want you to be happy,” she said.

Shoyo felt his heart begin to soar. It couldn't have gone better—he was still her child, she still loved him, he was still wanted. It was like all these things he hadn't dared to wish for were suddenly happening and it was the most amazing feeling in the world.

“Thanks, mom,” he choked up, feeling his own tears begin to rise. He felt so warm inside, like suddenly he had a glow. This was one of the best feelings of his life, the relief, the joy, the acceptance.

His mother pulled away, and her body shuddered, and he'd realized she'd begun to cry too. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, “how long have you been hurting?”

“Awhile,” Shoyo said, trying to keep nondescript of it. He wondered if suddenly everything had fallen into place to her, and begun to make sense—all of his strange behaviors, cutting off his hair, throwing away his make up, not wearing bras.

“We'll get you a chance to talk to a doctor,” she promised. “And we'll get you a binder. Everything will be okay, okay? I'll make sure. I have another four years to take care of you, baby.”

__ xiii _ _

It was around then that Shoyo began to think about his high school. Most of his classmates hadn't let the thought cross their minds, but Shoyo realized that if he wanted to transition, or at least pass for male in high school, he would have to find a school that would be willing to accommodate him.

He spent afternoons sitting in the living room with the wireless receiver pressed against his face, asking over and over again, “How does your school handle the circumstances of students who are sexual or gender minorities?”

Many of the representatives tried to sound very hopeful for his case, but Shoyo knew when they were sugar coating, or when they really had no idea what they were talking about.

His saving grace, surprisingly, came in the form of Karasuno High School, which was one town away. He dialed the number for the enrollment office, and waited for the person to pick up.

They greeted him, and he said, “Hi, um, I'm Hinata Shoyo... I'm a prospective student.”

“When would you be enrolling here?” The woman on the phone asked him.

“Um, the start of the academic year after the next,” Shoyo said, biting his lips.

“That's good to hear,” they were always happy about that, it seemed, “We like to see kids who are invested in their futures at an early age.”

“I actually just have one important question.”

“Of course, I can answer any questions.” He heard that a lot too.

“How does Karasuno handle the needs of students who are gender or sexual minorities?” he asked. No matter how many schools he called, his fingers always tightened, his whole body always tensed as he would await the answer they would give.

“We are open to every student,” she said, and he began to deflate, they always said that too, but then, she said something else. “We deal with students with unique circumstances on a case-by-case basis... If you contacted us again next year, when you're closer to enrolling, we would set up an appointment with you and the principal, along with your parents, and maybe your doctor, to discuss how you'd be treated as a student at our school... can I ask you if you're a gender or a sexual minority, exactly?”

Shoyo couldn't help but to smile, just a little bit. “Um, I'm not diagnosed yet, but I identify as a transgender boy...”

“We'll, then we'll be sure to work out the necessary provisions to have the correct information in the database, make sure you can use the correct bathroom, and join any males-only activities.”

His heart soared. This—this was tremendous! He found it. He didn't know a single thing about Karasuno High School, except that he was definitely going to attend it now. “Thank you so much!” he said into the phone, trying to hold back his excitement.

“You're welcome. I hope you'll keep in touch with us.”

They said goodbyes, and Shoyo hung up the phone. He held it tightly for a moment, before holding it against his chest and letting himself fall over on the couch.

A year and a half to go... A year and a half to go... It was so close yet so far, he could almost taste it. The feeling was warm. Here was a place that would treat him exactly as who he was...

And he only had to wait a year and a half.

__ xiv _ _

His mother had wanted to hold his hand as they walked through the doors of the psychologist's office, and Shoyo had let her. His stomach churned as they sat in the waiting room. His mother was looking at her shoes. He clenched his hands into tight fists and looked up, studying the absence of pattern on the ceiling.

The receptionist called his name, and his mother tugged on his arm. His head dropped and he unfurled his hands, studying the half moon marks his nails had indented into his palms as they were lead to the doctor's office.

Shoyo didn't really know what he was expecting. All of his ideas of shrinks had been dark stained wood floors from dubbed American films, with wilting flowers and leather couches, and white men speaking Japanese.

His doctor was a woman. She was, by all means, extremely average. There was no couch in the room, there were no plants. She waved them in and greeted them, exchanging idle greetings and peasantries with his mother. Shoyo took a seat in one of the rich chairs at her desk, and looked around the room. A doctorate's certificate was hanging from the wall, she had bookshelves that were full with thick volumes of many books.

“Hi Shoyo,” his doctor greeted, “I'm Doctor Akiyama. So, what I was told about this visit is you think you're experiencing gender dysphoria, right?” she said, looking directly at him.

He struggled, but made his eyes meet her's. This was about the most afraid of an authority figure that he'd ever been. Her signature on specific pieces of paperwork could alter his life entirely. Make it valid.

“Yes,” Shoyo said.

__ xv _ _

He answered every single question she asked, even the really weird, or the really innocuous ones. She asked him about his body, questions he tried to answer without looking at his mother, and she asked him about his feelings. He was scheduled another appointment with another psychologist, and it was over.

His mother bought him ice cream on the way home.

It all felt so clinical. Why couldn't he decide for himself that his gender didn't match his physical sex? How come someone needed to go to college for eight years to tell him that? He could figure it out himself.

Of course, he knew that this whole stupid process of diagnosis would pay off in the end. He could get sex reassignment surgery someday. He could go on hormones. He could go to Karasuno, be a male student in the books.

There were multiple appointments, and he finally got his diagnosis.

__ xvi _ _

Shoyo's first day of high school was also his first day wearing his binder outside of the house. He felt fresh, shiny, and new—nobody who he'd graduated from middle school with was moving onto Karasuno, and it felt great.

Nobody there would have any reason to wonder about his gender. It was going to be great.

The first hurdle, it turned out, was actually getting to school. His binder had felt good wearing it around the house, and he definitely loved looking at himself in the mirror in the boy's uniform, with a decidedly male looking chest. His door locked, he'd tried packing with rolled up (and clean!) socks, but it didn't feel good and he couldn't make it look right anyways, and hey, he was still just a fifteen year old kid, and there was a big difference between asking your mom to buy you a binder and asking your mom to buy you a fake silicone penis on the internet.

However, as he soon discovered, wearing a binder while riding your bicycle over a mountain very early in the morning trying to get to school did not feel quite so good. As soon as he lost his breath, it was impossible to regain it. He'd gotten used to the feeling of wearing a binder casually, but wearing it when he was trying to take big gulps of breath was not feeling great.

He managed to settle it once he got to school, but the feeling stuck with him all day. He'd gotten so sweaty on the ride, and the binder was the worst, because it was the tightest of all his articles of clothing.

He wondered if maybe he should've gone with the extreme sports bras instead of the real binder instead. During his lunch, he ducked into one of the faculty bathrooms and locked the door. He immediately pulled off his blazer and shirt, and then took off the binder, sighing in intense relief. He slouched against the metal door, cool against his back.

He'd already had enough stress today, wearing an uncomfortable garment on top of that was just the cherry on top of the cake. He stared at himself in the mirror, noticing the red patches of irritated skin around his breasts, and noted the bruises running along the sides of his chest.

That bike ride to school had been worse than he thought. He gently pressed along the marks, closing his eyes at the pain. Yep, this wasn't good. Quickly, he tried to think out how he could fix this. He couldn't just not wear anything under his shirt, people would definitely be able to tell. He didn't have any sports bras, or even any t-shirt bras on hand. They were all at home. Besides, even if he went without the binder, how would he get it back to his locker without anyone questioning him about it?

He resigned himself to his fate, and put the binder back on, wincing as he did so. He needed to think this plan through better tomorrow. As he unlocked the door of the faculty bathroom and went back to his classroom, he thought belatedly that he was really, really happy that volleyball practice, with the boys team, wouldn't start until tomorrow.

__ xvii _ _

Shoyo began to switch between sports bras and his binder. He arrived a bit earlier than most other students to school, and thus he could switch from his sports bra into his binder in the bathroom when he got to school.

Volleyball practice was a harder part of the equation. He could hide breasts in a sports bra under a blazer, but under a t-shirt was a far different equation. He wore his binder the first few practices, cursing under his breath the whole way through because, wow, that did not feel good.

After a lot of cursing and icing his ribs every night, his new sports bras did come a week later, and those did the trick. They were specially reinforced so they would actually bind, but they fit well enough that he could still be athletic.

Even with the bruises and the rash from his irritated skin, Shoyo was so genuinely happy to be part of the volleyball team. There was some stuff he felt kinda left out on, and Tsukishima made fun of him for having a girly voice, but Shoyo tried to not let anyone see how much it got to him. He was determined to have fun, and play boy's volleyball.

In some ways, though, even volleyball wasn't something he was expecting. He was expecting a large difference between high school and middle school volleyball, but what he wasn't really considering was the difference between men and women's volleyball.

One thing that irritated him was the net—it was almost two centimeters taller, and that played into his spikes, and his blocks, a lot. He was actually trying really hard to just look unskilled, instead of used to a different net height. They other thing was that even though the rules were no different, everyone was a lot more aggressive. None of the girls on Shoyo's team had ever done jump serves, and Shoyo had no experience in receiving them. Everyone in general had a lot more muscle mass to them, and that made receiving, blocking, and spiking a lot harder for him.

The other thing was his teammates. Tanaka seemed like a naturally handsy person, and Shoyo really liked his somewhat overenthusiastic senpai, but there were only so many aggressive side hugs Shoyo's bruises could deal with. And then there was Kageyama.

Shoyo hadn't really hit it off with Kageyama at first. He was pretty sure that Kageyama had just written him off as some unskilled extra-curricular padder on the first week, when he could barely play because of the binder he was wearing.

But then they became friends, and that was probably the kiss of death.

“Why do you always change and come out to practice after everyone else?” Kageyama asked him offhandedly while they were passing a volleyball back and forth one day.

Truly, the answer was pretty calculated. He was allowed in the boys locker room, but he couldn't change in front of the other boys, because there was the issue of the extra undergarment. Changing in a bathroom stall would only raise suspicion. So he'd petitioned to the captain to arrive a few minutes late everyday, to “get some extra help from his teachers”.

So that was exactly the answer Shoyo gave. “I need to stay after to talk to my teachers for extra help.”

Kageyama had shrugged and accepted the answer without any further probing, but for Shoyo, it fostered seeds of paranoia. He began to stay even later—he was usually the last one to finish up cleaning the gymnasium every night.

Daichi had allowed him the duty begrudgingly, because Shoyo said he wanted to make up for showing up late to practice.

__ xviii _ _

Suga was honestly a little bit worried that practices were too much for Hinata. He always seemed a little bit more winded than everyone else, and seeing the way Hinata would jump and bound about the court, Suga was honestly stunned that Hinata didn't work himself up to vomiting on the floor just about every practice.

“He works really hard,” Daichi said, but still, Suga was just a little bit worried.

“Hey, Hinata,” Suga said after practice one day, “How about I help you clean up? You finish it all by yourself, everyday.”

“Ah, haha,” Hinata laughed weakly, “Don't worry about it senpai, I got it!” He went on, “Really, don't worry about it...”

Suga didn't really want to infringe, so he didn't press the topic further.

But then he noticed other things.

Hinata winced when people hugged him, or even at friendly jostles along the side. He got really, really upset at comments about his stature, or high voice, even to the point of refusing to speak once pushed hard enough.

Suga tried to put the thoughts away. Everyone had their quirks.

A few nights after he'd offered to help, Suga had almost left the school when he realized he'd left his clothes in his locker in the locker room. He'd wanted to wash them that evening, so he climbed back up the stairs. He figured Hinata was probably finished cleaning up by now, and he just hoped that Hinata hadn't already packed up and locked all the doors.

__ xix _ _

Shoyo really didn't mind cleaning up after practice. It gave him some time to cool down for a bit before his bike ride home. He locked the doors to the gym and went into the locker room, quickly pulling off his t-shirt and then the heavy duty sports bra he wore for practice.

He sat down for a second, his hands pressed against his knees, and took a long draw of normal, unstrained breath. He felt along the marks on his sides, and thought about how he wished he could cut down on wearing binders so intensively.

The very last thing he was expecting to happen was for the locker room door from the hall to open. “Hey, Hinata are you still here?” Suga asked off-handedly as he walked in the door, but then he saw Shoyo.

Shoyo, sitting on the bench, half naked, with a very decidedly not male anatomy.

Shoyo gasped and scrambled to cover his chest with his arms, feeling a deep blush rise through every part of his body. Suga quickly covered his eyes and said, “Ah, I'm sorry!” and he quickly stepped out the door and shut it again as Shoyo's brain rushed to catch up with what had just happened. Oh no, oh no, Suga-senpai knew now... Everybody else would probably know too.

Shoyo quickly put on his looser sports bra for the bike ride home, and finished changing. He really, really hoped that whatever Suga had come back for, he would not be outside the door when Shoyo opened it.

Of course he was.

“Look Hinata, I'm not—” Suga began to say once Shoyo stepped out, but Shoyo stuffed the keys in his hands. “Get whatever you came for.” Shoyo said, and then he ran. Suga didn't follow him.

__ xx _ _

Shoyo told his mother everything as soon as he got home, and then he burst into tears. She held him tightly, her fingers curling in his hair. His tears were hot against his cheeks, and things had been starting to look up for him... Finally... but three weeks into high school, he'd ruined it. Probably made it worse. Kids just thought he was weird at his middle school, but now everyone at his school was going to know he was trans. Finally, an accepting high school, but he'd just screwed himself over socially for his whole tenure there anyways.

“I don't wanna go to school tomorrow,” he said into his mothers shirt. He pulled away and looked up at her.

She moved her hands out of his hair, and wiped away his tears with her fingers. “I'll let you skip tomorrow,” she said, “but you have to go back after that. Your education is important, sweetheart.” He sniffed again, and let her squeeze his shoulder. “I believe in you,” his mother said, “you're my strong, amazing son. You'll make it through everything.”

Shoyo called Yukiko after the hug fest was over. “ __ Hi, Shoyo, what's up? _ _ ” She greeted.

“Um,” Shoyo said, “A guy at my school. Um, he saw me changing. I'm skipping tomorrow... and would you come see me? I just... really want to talk to you in person.”

“ _ _Of course, Shoyo,__ ” Yukiko said, “ _ _Should I come over to your house?__ ”

__ xxi _ _

The next day at eleven in the morning on the dot, Yukiko was ringing the doorbell. Shoyo opened the door and ushered her in, offering tea and snacks.

“Hey, Shoyo,” Yukiko said, “Don't worry about being a perfect host, okay? This is about you right now, not me.”

Shoyo couldn't help but to smile a little bit. “Let's go sit down, then,” he said, and the two sat down at the kitchen table.

“So what happened, Shoyo?” Yukiko asked him, her hand reaching across the table.

Shoyo let her take his hand, and he said, “Well, I've been staying in practice later so I can change in the locker room alone, so no one sees me. I clean up and stuff. But last night when I was changing, one of my senpais came back, I guess he was looking for something, and I was just sitting in front of the door. I didn't have a shirt on, or even my sports bra. So yeah. He saw my boobs.”

“Do you think he would tell anyone else?”

“Honestly, I don't know if he would,” Shoyo said. “He seems really nice, but I've hardly talked to him about anything besides volleyball... And how does it make him feel, knowing there's a girl on his team?” he scowled, and looked at the table.

“Shoyo,” Yukiko said, “You're  _ _not__ a girl.”

“To him I am,” Shoyo said, his frown only growing deeper, “He probably told the captain right off the bat... I bet they'll all be making fun of me today at practice...”

“Shoyo, you told me just the other day that you really love your volleyball team, and you feel accepted by them.” Yukiko said, getting up. She pulled Shoyo to his feet too, and wrapped her arms around him. “You need to calm down a moment, and think normally. Do you think anyone on your team would be bigoted? Think about it a moment.”

Shoyo was quiet a moment. “I don't really know,” he finally said, “I don't know anyone that well. I mean, I ask them about volleyball... It's not like you walk up to people and ask them, 'Hey, what do you think about transgender people?', right?”

“I guess,” Yukiko said, finally feeling a little bit out of depth. It's not like she could educated Shoyo on the inner workings of teenage boys, she had no idea herself.

“I just... I really thought I had something going. Like I was going to have friends and an amazing volleyball team, and everything was going to work out and high school would be awesome,” Shoyo said. “And it didn't work out like that.”

“Life sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet a moment, and they Yukiko looked directly into Shoyo's eyes. “Shoyo, come 'ere,” she said.

“I'm already here,” he said, but then Yukiko was kissing him and he wasn't sure how he thought about it, so he stopped thinking and tried to figure out how you were supposed to kissed someone back, which he didn't figure out, and wow, he needed to stop thinking right now.

Yukiko pulled away, and said, “I can smell lampshades burning.” But then she blushed, and said, “I'm sorry, Shoyo, I should have asked first.”

“I... didn't know you liked me like that...” Shoyo said, his fingers reaching up to touch his lips.

“Hey, I don't like you,” Yukiko said, “I love you. And I'll love you as a friend. Or as more. Whatever you want, okay? I'll roll with it.”

“I dunno.” Shoyo said, “I dunno how I feel about boys, or girls. I mean, I can't even figure out my own body. Or my own brain. I don't think I should spend that much time with anyone else's.”

“Then hey, that's okay,” Yukiko said. “If you just need a friend, that's all I'll be.”

“You're not upset?” Shoyo said, feeling bad. He had just rejected her, after all, Yukiko had to be hiding some hurt feelings, or something.

“No. It was probably selfish of me to spring that on you now, too.”

“No, it wasn't... I... I liked kissing you. I did.” He felt bad about that. But really, at this point, he couldn't even take good care of himself. He had no right to take care of another person.

“Okay.” Yukiko moved away, and went to get herself to a glass of water. “Let's watch a movie,” she said. “What do you want to watch?”

“Something that's really, really stupid,” Shoyo said.

__ xxii _ _

Suga was very, very worried about Hinata. He could care less that Hinata wasn't, well, biologically a boy (was that even the correct way to phrase that?), but the fact that Hinata had run off and hadn't shown up for school that day was kind of nervewracking.

The other thing that made Suga worried wasn't his anatomy—it was all those bruises on him, and the red, itchy looking splotches along his chest. Well, that explained why Hinata wasn't really into the side hug thing, and why he would look so uncomfortable during practice, yet he could still maintain all of that athleticism.

Suga really wanted to talk to Hinata, but Hinata had run away, and he had no way to contact him. He wanted to tell Hinata that it was okay, and he could keep a secret.

Instead he had to wait.

__ xxiii _ _

Suga told Daichi the next day that he was going to be late for practice, because he was talking to a teacher. Instead of talking to a teacher, he sought out Hinata, who was also not talking to a teacher, but sitting on a bench drinking from a water bottle.

“Hey, Hinata, can we talk a few minutes?” Suga asked.

Hinata looked at him, and answered with a different question. “Did you tell anyone what you saw the other night?” His arms instinctively bent over his chest.

“No, Hinata,” Suga said, “I didn't breathe a word.”

Hinata seemed to visibly relax at that, and he finally said, “Are you okay with it? Me being me?”

“It's not really any of my business to tell you how to be,” Suga said, “But I think that if what you're doing makes you happy, you should keep up with it.” Hinata smiled, it was the way he smiled when he got really into practice, Suga recognized it. But then Suga said, “I wanted to ask you about something else though.”

“What is it?” Hinata said, suddenly guarded again. Well, it wasn't like Suga could blame him for anything. Hinata probably carried a lot more on his shoulders than he would ever reveal.

“You had bruises, along your ribs. How did they get there?” Suga asked. “You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I don't want to pry.”

“I'm still getting used to wearing a binder,” Hinata said. “It hurts sometimes. And binding isn't exactly great for you.”

“Hinata... I think you should tell the team.”

“Um... how about 'no way, absolutely not, never ever'?” Hinata said, frowning and turning away from Suga. Of course he would. Of course this wasn't going to go well.

“Hinata, I just want you to consider. Daichi and I will make sure no one is cruel to you about it. You can change in a stall or something if you want, no one would question it. You could wear a lighter sports bra for practice, you know. No one besides the team has to know.” Suga said. Hinata visibly loosened up, his shoulders drooping a bit.

“You don't consider... In practice is one thing, but what if someone blabs to someone outside the team?” Hinata said, “My school life could get miserable really, really fast.”

“They wouldn't dare, I swear,” Suga said, but he wasn't quite sure. He didn't say more.

“Suga-senpai, please consider this for a second,” Hinata said, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees. He didn't look at Suga anymore, instead looking at the concrete floor. “People on the team think I'm physically a boy. It's all I've ever really wanted.”

“You're a boy Hinata, don't doubt that,” Suga said, “But I just want you to make the choice for your health. You have so many bruises. Don't you wanna play without it hurting?”

Hinata took a long, long moment to consider. He'd been hiding the bruises from his mother, and he knew long term he had to figure out a new solution, because what he had just wasn't working.

“Hey, if anyone said anything about it, me and Daichi would beat them up.” Suga said offhandedly, take the chance to pat Hinata gently on the back.

“Somehow I don't see that happening, senpai,” Hinata said, laughing a little.

“Hey, I take offense to that.” Suga said, but he couldn't help but to laugh.

Hinata straightened out, and sat up, looking Suga in the eye. “Do you really mean it though? That you guys would protect me?”

“Of course we would, Hinata,” Suga said, “We're teammates. And we're friends.”

Hinata got up, and said, “Get me there before I lose my nerve.”

They began to walk towards the gymnasium, and Suga said, “Do you want to tell everyone? Or do you want me and Daichi to?”

“I'll do it,” Hinata said.

They arrived in the gym, and Suga spoke quietly with Daichi a moment, interrupting the team from their stretches. Daichi nodded, and stood up, and said, “Guys, listen up, Hinata has something he wants to talk about.”

Hinata was usually really good at talking, but suddenly he felt the shyest he'd ever been. “Um, well I guess a lot of you noticed that I never change with the team and stuff,” he said, reaching a hand behind his neck. “Well, um, the truth is, I'm not really supposed to change with you guys.”

“Why?” Kageyama asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, I'm not physically male. I'm transgender.” Somehow, he was waiting for people to be grossed out, yelling, commotion. Instead, he got Tanaka hugging him.

Tanaka was saying, “Hey, why didn't you tell us before? Think we'd be upset?”

“Ouch,” Hinata said, “Not so tight. Well, actually, the reason I told everyone now is I'm not going to be binding during practice anymore. It's really bad for me.”

Then was the commotion, but it wasn't negative, it was so positive, people were ruffling his hair and telling him it was all okay. He felt so warm, and he couldn't figure out why he'd doubted them at all.

“Hey, Suga?” Hinata said. His senpai turned to him, and Hinata jumped up and hugged him, beaming. He was just one of the guys.

 

 


End file.
